


you're just as far in as you'll ever be out

by bemusedlybespectacled (ardentintoxication)



Series: Hurt/Comfort Bingo [2013] [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 09, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bunker Fic, Community: hc_bingo, Culture Shock, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men of Letters Headquarters, Squick, nothing too graphic but ya'll should know that it's a bit ew, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentintoxication/pseuds/bemusedlybespectacled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "unravel my latest mistake."</p><p>Take two fallen angels, two hunters, and a case to solve. Shake vigorously.<br/>In separate bowl, combine remaining angels with human society. Marinate.<br/>Add caffeine, silver, and salt as necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're just as far in as you'll ever be out

**Author's Note:**

> So I was _totally right_ about there being a guy named Bartholomew who would have a nickname but insist everyone call him Bartholomew. I was wrong on the way "expelling from Heaven" worked, but who cares, have a fic where I ignore everything that's happened this season so I can cling to Kevin and Charlie and Sam and not let them be trampled by the writers. _My babies._

The problem with the angels isn’t that they don’t know how to hunt. Far from it. They all have their angel blades still, and are just as deadly with them as they were when they weren’t human. Teaching them how to use guns is ridiculously easy – within two lessons they all know how to clean and assemble a rifle, and Hephzibah only has to fire her gun once to get a feel for it before she’s able to hit the center of the target in the bunker’s shooting range every time. They’re perfect soldiers, and being in human bodies hasn’t changed that.

It’s trying to get them to act like humans that’s the problem.

It’s not all of them, sure: Kezia and Adah, at least, have no problems with using the toaster or the microwave and can walk into a clothing store without freaking out; unlike Zebadiah, who took one look at the crowd assembled for a Black Friday sale and had to go sit in the car before he had a panic attack. But Barty (who still insists on Bartholomew) last took a vessel in 1952. Hephzibah hasn’t been on Earth since 1893. Mara hasn’t been on Earth at all.

This is kind of issue when half the job – the part that doesn’t involve ganking monsters with silver blades and salt rounds – is the human part.

For example, they can’t act their way out of a paper bag.

“Hello I am Agent Barton this is Agent Rogers pause,” says Zebadiah, practicing a basic FBI script with Dean. “Taking out ID we got called down from HQ to help you guys out pause.”

“Dude, don’t read the stuff in the brackets,” says Dean. “That’s what you’re supposed to do, not what you’re supposed to say. And try a bit more inflection, okay?”

“Oh,” says Zebadiah. “Should I try again?”

“Maybe we can put them on mission control?” says Dean, looking over his shoulder at Sam, who’s writing out the scripts on notebook paper. “I mean, Barty already sounds like the voicemail guy.”

Sam nods. “Or we could try the priest one. They’d probably do way better as priests.” He glances at Hephzibah, who’s running through the grief counselor script with Adah. She looks more like she’s trying to kill Adah by glaring at her instead of looking sympathetic to her recent loss. “Or nuns.”

“The non-sexy kind,” Dean agrees.

Sam rips a fresh page of paper out of the notebook and starts writing a shopping list. “So we’ll need four habits and two of the suits with the dog collars.”

“ _Hello_ , I _am_ Agent _Barton_ , this _is_ Agent _Rogers_ ,” says Zebadiah intently. “We got _called in_ from _HQ_ to _help_ you guys _out_.”

“Rush shipped,” says Dean. “ _Overnight_ shipping.”

* * *

They get a call during breakfast.

"That was Garth," says Kevin, hanging up the phone. "Suspicious death in Missouri. Guy fell off a building, nothing too weird, except the inside of his throat? Completely burned out."

"What kind of burning?" asks Dean.

"Apparently, some sort of hot liquid down his throat. Garth was hazy on the specifics."

"Awesome," says Dean. He gets up from the table and puts his dishes in the sink. "Sam, you're with me."

"I would also like to go," says Kezia.

"Sure," says Dean, shrugging. "Anyone else?" 

Mara raises her hand timidly.

"Awesome. Kevin, that means you get to angel-sit. Cas, you coming?"

Cas looks innocently down at his pancakes. "Someone needs to watch Kevin."

"I don't need watching!"

"We can walk into town," says Cas blithely, as if Kevin hasn't spoken. "The exercise will be useful."

"Okay, but keep your cellphone on you, yeah? Anything happens, you call me, I'll turn around and get you." They'll need a new car, Dean realizes. They'll have enough to start being able to split up comfortably soon, go on their own hunts, and the Impala isn't enough to carry all of them.

"We'll take the FBI cellphone," says Kevin. "In case you need us."

"Because things went so well last time we had you on call, right?"

"Not my fault the dude didn't have any incriminating party photos."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, just stick to the script, okay?"

Cas kisses Dean's cheek as he moves past him to wash the dishes. "We'll be fine, Dean."

"It's not you guys I'm worried about."

* * *

“I’m Sister Mary Clarence,” says Kezia, outside a suburban home in Belton, “and this is Sister Mary Roberts.” She gestures to Mara, who looks very uncomfortable in her habit. “We are so sorry for your loss.”

In the Impala parked across the seat, Dean punches the air with the hand that isn’t holding the cell phone.

“We’re not Catholic and we’re not converting,” says Mrs. Fawcett, and she moves to close the door. 

There's a brief moment where Dean thinks he's going to have to break out the FBI schtick again, but then Mara gently puts her hand on the door. “You do not have to be part of a particular religious denomination to receive comfort in a time of grief,” she says, frowning.

Mrs. Fawcett raises her eyebrows. There’s a pause. “You might as well come in, then,” she says, and they follow her into the foyer.

Ten minutes later, she's crying on Mara's shoulder. "And they found the stuff he used to melt the plastic at the crime scene, but there's no physical evidence besides that! You know, you'd think they'd find some blood or skin particles or whatever  _CSI_ crap but oh no, 'we're trying our best, ma'am,' but their best isn't helping to find whoever did this-"

Mara pats her on the back, flashing Kezia a look. Kezia taps the side of her head, where the Bluetooth piece is under her wimple, and grins.

After they’ve left, Sam holds a hand up a hand for Mara to high-five. She looks at it and frowns.

“You touch it with your hand,” he says. She does so, eying him dubiously.

“Why is this action significant?”

“Because you did good on the improv,” says Dean. “Seriously, that was impressive, coming up with that on the fly.”

“But it was true,” says Mara, looking more concerned. “I was not attempting any deception-”

“Relax,” says Dean. “It got you in the house, it’s good, you’re good.”

Mara looks at him dubiously.

“As you say,” she says, with a look on her face that actually means, _I have no idea what you’re saying at all._

* * *

“Is there a reason that woman was so familiar with me?” asks Zebadiah in a pizza place in town. “We have not met.”

“I believe,” says Castiel, “that she finds you physically attractive.”

Barty, his mouth full of pizza, rolls his eyes in a distinctly human way.

Kevin snorts. "It's probably the hair."

“I see nothing particularly aesthetically pleasing about my hair,” says Zebadiah, but he runs a hand through it all the same, his fingers catching on the black curls.

“Your hair is very-” says Hephzibah, before she catches herself. “...visually appealing,” she finishes weakly. She looks down at her pizza (that she is eating with a fork and knife, despite Kevin telling her she's supposed to use her hands), blushing to the roots of her hair.

Adah smiles knowingly at Kevin - she understands Hephzibah, even if she doesn't always understand humans.

* * *

"So get this," says Sam, spinning his laptop around so that Dean can read. "Mr. Fawcett was the boss at the shelf factory, but before that he worked at this place called Black Aperture Enterprises."

"Aren't they the people who make plastic parts for things?"

"Yeah, and - wait for it - there was an accident there right before Mr. Fawcett switched jobs. And it wasn't like it was a lateral move, either - he got paid a lot more at Black Aperture than he did in shelving."

"What kind of accident?"

"From all accounts, this guy fell into a vat," says Sam, pulling up a news story from 2005. "Cause of death was ruled an accident, but there weren't any witnesses."

"Yeah, pull the other one," says Dean.

"Pull the other what?" asks Mara. She's a bit jittery, overfocused, and Dean is starting to question the wisdom of using the Starbucks WiFi. At least if they'd gone to McDonald's she might not have been exposed to eggnog lattes.

"Idiom," says Kezia. "Irrelevant to the task at hand."

"He drowned in melted plastic," says Sam. "Sound familiar?"

"Okay, but someone used tools to do it. Plastic parts, a crucible. Ghosts would just magic the stuff up, but this guy actually had to do it himself," says Dean.

"So not a ghost, then," says Kezia. "Revenant?"

"Probably. Did we even bring a coffin?"

"Silver nails, yes, but no coffin."

"And his is probably broken from the inside," says Sam.

"Let's get a coffin," says Dean.

* * *

It turns out banishing a revenant is much easier when there's four people to do it. Dean doesn't exactly take his sweet time hammering the nails in, but it's not as sloppy a job as he would have done if he'd been trying to hold down the lid at the same time.

He hammers in nail after nail until the churchyard is silent but for the sound of heavy breathing.

* * *

There's a familiar tramping sound down the stairs leading to the front door.

"Hey, honey, I'm home. The office was boring, my boss was a b-" But Cas already has Dean's shirt in a firm grip and has silenced him thoroughly. Dean makes a pained sound, and Cas pulls away.

"You were bitten," he says, his fingers moving gently over a deep bruise on Dean's neck.

"Yeah, no one gives hickeys like you, man."

"Dean."

"I'm _fine._ " He wilts a bit under Cas's glare. "I just need some Tylenol for my ribs, that's all. And the others have it worse," he adds defensively. "Kezia needs the bite on her arm cleaned out and Sam needs some burn cream."

As if on cue, the door slams open again. Kezia moves lightly down the stairs, already heading to the kitchen to grab the first aid kit, but Sam supports Mara as she tries to walk down the stairs, her hair coming out of its braid.

"It's not broken," she says. "It's just a sprain."

"Yeah, and you still can't walk without limping," Sam retorts, "so let me do this."

She takes her arm off his shoulder and tries to hop on one foot down the stairs, using the railing to support herself. "I was a soldier," she huffs. "Believe me, _this_ -" she hisses in pain as she reaches the ground floor, "is not a war wound."

"Dean," says Kevin, coming into the room. "You got a phone call."

"What, now?" says Dean.

"While you were gone. Someone named Charlie? Said she found a guy in Hermosa: no ID, no record of him ever existing."

"Sounds like an angel."

"With a name like Gamaliel? Yeah."

Dean snickers. " _Gamaliel?_ "

"I know him," says Kezia, toting the first aid kit. She fishes out the burn cream from it and gestures at Sam, who gingerly takes his shirt off. "He worked in the armory," she says, smearing it on the palm-sized burn on his shoulder. "He never had a vessel, as far as I know."

"So let's go pick him up, then," says Dean.

"When you've slept and eaten and healed," says Cas sternly. "Not before."

" _Fine_. But you're coming with me when we go."

"Of course," says Cas, and his breath near the mark on Dean's neck shouldn't be nearly as hot as it is. Dean allows himself to be led to the bedroom - ostensibly to get his ribs checked out - on the basis of that alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I love references to things, Wikipedia, and writing people more inept at social interaction than I am.
> 
> I am also ashamed to report that I have gotten way too into my OCs and they all have _backstories_ and _descriptions_ and shit and it's kind of ridiculous. Maybe one day I will write another sequel or a prequel or a meta or something because they are my babies.
> 
> This also fulfills the "culture shock" square on my hurt/comfort bingo card, because the angels are socially inept adorasweeties.


End file.
